


Bad Business

by manic_intent



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged up!Akira, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, M/M, That sugar daddy AU where Akira has max guts and Iwai is still yakuza, Yakuza!Iwai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “Shit. Kai said you were a kid, but you reallyarefuckin’ young.”“Where’s Kai?”“Workin’, if he knows what’s good for him.” The stranger sat in an easy sprawl at the bench, at arm’s reach, his elbows pressed over his knees. “All right, kid. Where the hell did you steal those gems from?”“You’re Kai’s boss?” Akira hazarded a guess.“Answer the question.”“Why should I? I don’t know who you are. You could be an undercover cop.”“Heh. Kai was right about that too. You’ve got some fuckin’ balls.” The stranger held out a hand. “Iwai. Kai’s boss.”





	Bad Business

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t normally open for prompts, because I’m incredibly picky, have a full time job, and also (try to) publish original fiction, but since someone asked nicely on tumblr and this is a tiny fandom so… 
> 
> Prompt: Sugar daddy AU with max rank guts Akira and cocky yakuza Iwai.
> 
> Haha. So many of my fandoms lately seem to segue into mafia stories. This is an aged up AU—Akira is in college rather than high school, so the backstory sequence is different. YMMV of course, but writing any of the major AO3 trigger tags isn’t my thing as an author.

Inokashira park was quiet at night near the lake. Akira sat on a bench, stretching out his legs, watching the shadows. In his bag, Morgana squirmed unhappily. “Eh, Akira. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You’ve told me that fifteen times now,” Akira murmured. It was a chilly night, and he had his hands folded in his pockets, fingers curled over the velvet bag. “Relax. Makoto’s listening in.”

“She’s a student police liaison. She’s not actually part of the police."

"We need to fence those Palace gems, and Kai at the Airsoft shop wouldn’t take them over the counter.”

“There’s something fishy about him wanting to meet you here,” Morgana pointed out. “Don’t you think?”

“That’s why Makoto’s listening in,” Akira said, patient for the fifteenth time. “Relax.”

“You _know_ that Airsoft shop is a yakuza front, right?”

“Yes, Makoto’s only told us a hundred times. It’s going to be all right. Ann’s been there by herself, even. Besides, the yakuza are technically legal in Japan.”

“Knives are legal in Japan and you can be technically stabbed to death by one of those,” Morgana said, determined to be pessimistic. Akira exhaled loudly, but before Morgana could continue to harangue him, a shadow peeled away from the trees, ambling down towards them. A nearby street lamp peeled strips of light over a startlingly handsome man with graying hair cropped short, wearing a suit over a black turtleneck, a white stick—a lollipop?—held casually in his mouth. Cold eyes ruined the look, the stranger giving Akira a slow once-over, tucking the lollipop from one edge of his mouth to the other.

“Shit. Kai said you were a kid, but you really _are_ fuckin’ young.”

“Where’s Kai?”

“Workin’, if he knows what’s good for him.” The stranger sat in an easy sprawl at the bench, at arm’s reach, his elbows pressed over his knees. “All right, kid. Where the hell did you steal those gems from?”

“You’re Kai’s boss?” Akira hazarded a guess.

“Answer the question.”

“Why should I? I don’t know who you are. You could be an undercover cop.”

“Heh. Kai was right about that too. You’ve got some fuckin’ balls.” The stranger held out a hand. “Iwai. Kai’s boss.”

“Akira.” Akira shook hands. Iwai’s grip was warm and rough. “So you’re like… the _kumicho_?”

Iwai sniffed. “Fuck no. The _kumicho_ has better things to do than legwork. Answer the question.”

“I’ve got a source.”

“Stole them, yeah? From your parents, or from a shop?”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” Akira said, watching the park with his peripheral vision. It did look like Iwai had come alone. Either he was confident, or—

“Look,” Iwai sighed. “If you stole them from your parents, fine. We’ll buy them, it’s your problem. But if you got them from a shop… The jewellery shops ‘round here pay us protection money for a reason. Lettin’ brats rob them is bad for business.”

“I didn’t steal them from a shop. And if you don’t want to buy them, just let me know. I’ll find someone else.”

Iwai glowered at him, but Akira wasn’t intimidated. Statistically, the yakuza in Japan were phasing out gun use—with the strict gun control laws in place, it was too inconvenient even for them to have a gun. And if Iwai didn’t have a gun, Akira could most likely outrun him to the busier parts of the park if he got a head start.

“Just so you know,” Iwai said finally, “these kinds of gems, the way they’re cut, one of our stores might be able to tell where they’re from.”

“Let them try. They’re not stolen. Not in the way that you think.”

“They just really good fakes? Kai’s very nearly a pro, and he thought they were real.”

Akira shrugged. “You want to buy them or not?”

“… Fine,” Iwai said, his eyes narrowed, and named a price. Akira haggled, just because, got a little raise, and handed the gems over even as Iwai counted out a thick wad of bills. The exchange was done with a little relief on Akira’s part and a smirk on Iwai’s. “This a once-off?” Iwai asked, pocketing the gems.

“Maybe.” They would be stealing that particular Treasure soon: changing the heart of another politician. The next Palace might be back to plastic frames, for all Akira knew.

“Huh. You’re a strange kid.” Iwai shook his head slowly, though he smiled, and sounded amused more than annoyed. “I’ll give you my personal number. You got anythin’ else interestin’ to fence, call me, and we’ll meet here.”

“All right.”

“No hesitation, huh? You know who I am?”

“Hashiba-gumi.” Futaba had done the research. “Same as Kai. You’re probably one of the _kyodai_.” A lieutenant wouldn’t waste time personally doing legwork. Which meant probably a high ranking minion, someone ranked higher than Kai, who was _shatei_.

“Close. Pretty good. We could use smart kids like you who can find gems like these.”

“You could,” Akira agreed, “but I think you can’t afford me, Iwai-san.” He winked.

Iwai laughed. “Yeah? Stay interestin’, kid. See you around.” He pushed away from the bench, and eventually melted back into the trees, rounding out of sight.

Akira breathed out, and set his phone to speaker. “He’s gone.”

“That was dangerous.” Makoto’s voice was tinny. “I still don’t approve.”

“We got paid, didn’t we? Besides, the gems weren’t stolen. So we didn’t break any laws. None of our business where _he_ got his money from.”

“We should change fences,” Makoto said. “The Hashiba-gumi are going to be watching you carefully now. If they showed that much interest in the gems, they probably think you’ve got a way to find more.”

“You’re too confident, that’s what you are,” Morgana complained. “Selling to the yakuza! Meeting yakuza at night in a park! We’re going to end up shot in an alley.”

“Hai, hai. But before we do, how about all of us have a nice sushi dinner somewhere? I think we’ve earned it.”

At his shoulder, Morgana perked up. “You just tried to bribe me and it worked.”

“I’ll let the others know.” Makoto sounded resigned. “I’m serious, Akira. Find another place to offload our stuff. And don’t talk to the Hashiba-gumi again.”

#

“Hey kid.” This time, Iwai was early, already slouched on the bench. No lollipop today—he was smoking, and smiled wolfishly when Akira wrinkled his nose, blowing out a gritty stream. “You got somethin’ for me?”

“I’m looking for information, actually. And I can pay.” Akira sat down, ignoring how Morgana squirmed nervously in the bag.

“Tch. You call me all the way out here just to talk? No gems?” Iwai didn’t sound annoyed though, merely amused. “This better be good.”

“Do you know about the Kinokami-gumi?” Akira asked, and regretted the phrasing of the question instantly when Iwai rolled his eyes.

“What kinda business would we be runnin’ if we didn’t know about the competition, eh? You better not be wastin’ my time here.”

Akira dug in his pockets, and handed over a large pearl. A discreet inquiry with an expert on the police’s sometime-payroll had assured Makoto that the pearl was one of the first water, its iridescent gleam a pale reflection in the street light. Strange Treasure to find in the mind-Palace of the CEO of an e-Commerce conglomerate, but what did you know.

“Huh.” Iwai turned the pearl over in his hands. “Okay, now I’m curious.”

Akira tried not to show relief. The pearl was the only thing of real value they’d found in the Palace: they’d flogged the rest at an independently owned pawn shop that Futaba had found in a back alley in Kabukichō. The profits were nowhere as good as at the Airsoft shop, but they didn’t have much of a choice. Most of the other no-questions-asked shops were also yakuza fronts, and Makoto was wary now.

“I want to know the full name of the _oyabun_ of the Kinokami-gumi.”

Iwai blinked at him. “Now, why would a cute kid like you need to know somethin’ like that?”

Cute…? “That’s my business.”

Iwai gave him a long, appraising look, then he sighed, and handed the pearl back over. “All right, no deal.”

“What?” Akira hadn’t expected this. “Oh. You don’t know his name?”

“’Course I know his name.” Iwai said, taking in another drag of cigarette smoke. “But I don’t see why you need to know it. You workin’ for the cops? Heard they take in alot of student detectives nowadays. Fuckin’ stupid idea.”

“I’m not working for the cops.” Akira said.

“Then what? Newspaper? Whatever it is, kid,” Iwai said, not unkindly, “it ain’t worth it. Tanglin’ with the Kinokami-gumi. They won’t kill you. But they’d squeeze you and squeeze you until there’s nothin’ left. Your family, too.”

“I know he controls Kabukichō.”

“Could be,” Iwai said easily. “What’s your business with the Kinokami-gumi? By the way, even if I tell you their _oyabun’s_ name, it ain’t gonna do you any good. Police can’t do shit. He’s careful.”

“So if it isn’t going to do me any good, then why don’t you just let me know what it is?” Akira countered. “Why do you care?”

Iwai didn’t answer immediately, smoking instead, watching the trees. “You haven’t been visitin’ Kai lately,” he said finally.

“Did he miss me?”

Iwai sniffed. “Just curious why that might be the case.”

“Found someone willing to give a better price.”

“Yeah?” Iwai didn’t look convinced. “Thought I scared you off.”

“You’re not that scary.”

“Heh.” Iwai ducked his head, starting to chuckle. “You’re somethin’ else, kid. I like you. That’s why I’m warnin’ you off. The boss of the Kinokami-gumi is bad news. The Hashiba-gumi don’t make dealings with kids. Them? They _like_ it. Especially girls. Younger the better.” Iwai eyed him again. “Pretty boys too. They’d use you until there’s nothin’ left. Then maybe they’d sell your organs.”

“I know that.” The people who had begged them for help with the Kinokami-gumi had told them as much. They were a few steps before the grave, and not even Makoto’s contacts in the police could save them. Not the way they needed to be saved.

“What, some friends of yours got into trouble? You lookin’ for revenge?”

“No. If you can’t help me, I’ll ask someone else,” Akira said.

“Yeah? Who?”

“There are other yakuza families. You guys all have front offices on the street, even. Someone will sell me the information.”

“… you got balls, kid,” Iwai said ruefully. “Fine. I think you don’t know what the fuck you’re gettin’ into. But if it ain’t about revenge, and it ain’t about getting a scoop or helpin’ the police… their _oyabun’s_ name is Kaneshiro Junya.”

“Thanks.” Akira tried to hand the pearl over, but Iwai shook his head, keeping his hands to himself.

“Don’t bother.”

“I don’t like to owe people anything.”

“How old are you?”

Akira frowned. “Old enough to drink.”

“Yeah?” Iwai breathed out another stream of smoke. “Tell you what. You let me buy you a drink sometime, and I’ll count us even.” He looked Akira slowly up and down, and Akira had to fight not to flush.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“You once said that I couldn’t afford you,” Iwai said, his grin wolfish. “Maybe I wanna prove you wrong.”

#

Iwai’s information came good. As they left the now-grounded Palace, Makoto said, “You’re not really going to let Iwai buy you a drink, are you?”

“Concerned?” Under his mask, Akira smiled, and Makoto let out a deep sigh. He’d met her in Todai, out of sheer coincidence: she was a police liaison and Akira’s first case as a private student detective had crossed her wires. He’d only been trying to find an interesting way to pay tuition fees then. Life had a curious way of snowballing in unexpected directions.

Ann laughed. She’d been his first client: meeting her had drawn over the others, bit by bit. Fate had been kind to Akira lately. “There’s no need to worry about Joker. He always takes care of himself. And even if he can’t, Mona will be there.”

“That’s right. If he tries anything, I’ll scratch his face.” Morgana declared. “But I don’t think he’s that bad.”

“That bad? He’s _yakuza_. They’re all bad.” Makoto said, nodding back at the grounded bank behind them. “I thought it’d be obvious to all of you by now.”

“Eh. He tried to warn us off,” Futaba said. “Maybe he’s not one of the _really_ bad ones? I don’t think he’s just _kyodai_ , though. I’ve been tracing the Airsoft shop’s finances. Very carefully,” she added quickly, when Makoto stared at her.

“I’ll be careful.” Akira said, with exaggerated care. “Promise.”

“Things were a little better when we could still use the Airsoft shop,” Ryuji said wistfully. “Money was better.”

“There were many days when I did not need to live on soy sauce and rice,” Yusuke agreed.

“What! Inari, we _talked_ about you and expenses.” Futaba pressed her fists to her hips.

“Art materials are life!”

“Didn’t Queen show you how to use the internet to get discounted materials?” Ann said.

Yusuke nodded firmly. “Which means that for the same amount of money, I can now buy even better materials!”

“Skull and I will keep looking for a better shop,” Akira said quickly, before a squabble started. “In the meantime, rest up. We’re going to have to steal that Treasure soon. Before they send all those girls to the ‘chopshop’.”

#

Lying low after a successful heist was always the hard part. Unfortunately, the pawn shop tried to offer an insultingly low price for Kaneshiro’s golden suitcase Treasure, and after hunting around, Akira reluctantly sold it at the Airsoft shop instead. As such, he wasn’t too surprised to get a message from Iwai later in the evening, asking if he was free to meet up.

“This is a bad idea,” Morgana said, as he read the phone over Akira’s shoulder. They were just outside LeBlanc, having headed out for the night for a walk.

“Maybe. But you heard Kai. He’s not allowed to sell us any more upgraded stock until ‘the boss’ gives him the say-so.” That had been annoying. “We need gear.”

“They aren’t the only Airsoft shop in Tokyo. They aren’t even the only one in _Shibuya_.”

“They’re the cheapest by far. Even cheaper than online shops.”

“Hai.” Morgana grumbled, prodding Akira’s shoulder. “You just want to go because you’re curious. You’re reckless.”

“Maybe.” Akira sent a guarded reply back, and Iwai replied with the location of a bar in Shibuya. Another yakuza front? He forwarded the location to Futaba to check, and headed to the train station.

The bar was in a quiet alley, and most of its customers were drinking by themselves at the counter, avoiding eye contact. When Akira walked in, the bartender blinked, stared keenly at him for a long moment, then waved him through. “Second door to the left.”

“I don’t like this,” Morgana muttered, but Akira kept walking. The door was cold to the touch, opening into a private room. An unbroken couch lined two of the walls, with a large tv on the third, set to a news channel, the volume turned low. The single window in the room was left open, not that it helped: the room still smelled ashy. Iwai had his feet up on the table, and he sat up when Akira came in, stubbing out his cigarette.

“Thought you weren’t gonna to show up.” Iwai sounded pleased.

“Someone said he was going to buy me a drink.” Akira sat down, just out of arm’s reach.

“Yeah? What’s your poison?”

“There’s a Kyoto Ichijoji beer on tap here. One of those.”

“Fruit beer?” Iwai wrinkled his nose. “You like craft beer?”

“I like _craft_ ,” Akira said, glancing at Iwai’s glass. “Whisky?”

“Sometimes shochu.” The barkeeper poked in his head, took the orders, and disappeared. “So. Like to explain how you did that?” Iwai nodded at the tv. The news channels were all covering Kaneshiro’s high-profile surrender to the police, breathlessly discussing the Kinokami-gumi and the yakuza in general.

“Did I do that?” Akira said, with a slight smile.

“The innocent act is very cute,” Iwai said, his voice husky as he leaned over, until he was inches apart, “but I think the two of us know better, hm? Mister Phantom Thief.”

Akira tensed. “You think I’m a Phantom Thief? That’s funny.”

“I’ve been doin’ a little thinkin’, a little diggin’ around,” Iwai said, and he was close enough for Akira to smell him, smoke and starch and sweat. “Those gems you sold us are the real deal. But they ain’t cut anywhere that we know. The stuff you buy from us… the stuff you sell… it all don’t add up. Too weird. So I got the boys to find me a list of all the high profile ‘victims’ of the Thieves and matched it against all the shit you’ve been sellin’ to us these few months.”

Ah. A mistake. Shouldn’t have just used Kai all these months. Akira put a palm against his bag when he felt Morgana worming against the zip, ready to leap. “Oh?”

“Did more sniffin’ around. That ‘pscience’ thing was pretty hard to swallow at first. But you can’t ignore results.” Iwai was grinning wolfishly again, though his eyes were narrowed. “You’re more interestin’ than I thought.”

Akira sucked in a slow breath, and flinched as the door opened. It was the bartender, avoiding their eyes as he set glasses of water then a bottle of beer on the table and an empty glass, pouring in something foamy and dark. He refilled Iwai’s glass, leaving the bottle—a Yamazaki—and retreated quickly.

“You’ve got expensive tastes,” Akira said, with a nod at the bottle.

“That’s just a twelve. I keep eighteens for special occasions only. You want a taste, be my guest.”

Akira took a sip, pulled a face, and drank water to wash it out. He never did like whisky. “It’s okay.”

“It’s better than your fuckin’ fruit beer,” Iwai said, though he was amused again, leaning back. “That gold suitcase was Kaneshiro’s, yeah? His Treasure?” When Akira shot him a guarded look, Iwai snorted. “Who am I gonna blab to, eh?”

“Kai said you told him not to sell us any more stuff.”

“Eh, that was just temporary. I wanted to talk. After this, he’d start sellin’ again. You’re good for business.” Iwai said, giving Akira another lazy once-over. “I’d like to cut a better deal, though.”

“What deal?”

“You handled the Kinokami-gumi pretty easily. The Hashiba-gumi’s set to clean up in Kabukichō. Could be there’re other yakuza clans out there that might need takin’ care of. You help me, we help you. You can take whatever you want from Kai’s inventory, whenever you want. Could be that we’d even be interested in givin’ you a cut.”

Akira shook his head. “I’m not interested in becoming a contractor for the yakuza.”

“Thought you’d say that. Pity.”

“But I don’t mind an alliance of convenience,” Akira said, taking another sip of his beer. “Access to Kai’s inventory and upgrades at a better price. Inside information.” He leaned over, with a smirk of his own. “Maybe the occasional free drink.”

“Yeah?” Iwai rumbled, and Akira was baiting the tiger, like this, close enough to touch. “And in this ‘alliance’, what are you going to do for me?”

“You’re not _kyodai_. I think you’re _shatei-gashira_. At the least.” Iwai smiled, but said nothing, and Akira dared to reach over, pressing his fingertips over Iwai’s knuckles. “I won’t work for you. But what else _can_ I do for you, Iwai-san?”

Iwai growled, and the next thing Akira knew he was being hauled onto Iwai’s lap, overbalancing for a moment before Iwai steadied him with a firm grip, dragging him down for a kiss that Akira enthusiastically returned, his glasses going askew, scratching down Iwai’s shoulders. Dimly, he was aware of Morgana making an squeak of surprise and darting out of the bag and then the window, then Iwai was hauling him closer, squeezing his ass.

“You’re not _that_ pretty,” Iwai said, as Akira took off his glasses and tucked them away.

“But you _do_ think I’m pretty,” Akira said, arms loose over Iwai’s shoulders, grinning challengingly.

“We got names for people who trade their body for favours.” Rough fingers stroked Akira’s thighs meaningfully.

“Oh? Do you know someone who might be willing to offer me a better rate?” Akira feigned curiosity. “The Hashiba-gumi’s _waka-gashira_ , maybe? Or your _kumicho_?”

“Nice try, kid,” Iwai said, refusing to be baited, though he pinched Akira’s ass. “Don’t think they’d be your type.”

“While you think you are?”

“I got eyes. I’ve noticed you checkin’ me out. Or I wouldn’t have offered. Tell you what. The better price, information, fine. Might be sometimes I’ll pass on a name, someone I think you might be interested in. You wanna deal with it, fine, you don’t, sure. And the rest?” Iwai kissed Akira’s throat, chuckling, the sound like a low purr. “I do wanna take care of you. You don’t have to live in a storeroom above a coffee shop.” When Akira tensed, Iwai kissed the hollow of his throat. “What, you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Maybe I want to think about it,” Akira said, though he was hard, pressed against Iwai’s belly.

“Before or after I suck your cock?” Iwai inquired, and laughed when Akira blushed. “Oh-h-h. That’s cute.”

“After,” Akira said quickly, before he could change his mind, and Iwai smirked, twisting them around, going down on his knees.

#

Even Morgana stopped complaining about Akira having sold his soul or whatever it was when they moved into the beautiful penthouse apartment. He darted over to the balcony, goggling at the view of Yoyogi-park, then back down the corridor to where Akira was removing his shoes. “This place is amazing! Near the park, near the station… how much did it cost?”

“Don’t know. Iwai’s paying the rent.” Akira trundled his suitcase into the master bedroom, only to realize that Iwai had bought him clothes as well: elegant coats hung in the wardrobe, with new shirts and jeans, even shoes. Morgana sat on the bed, astonished.

“Maybe he should pay for your tuition at Todai.”

“What happened to me having sold my soul?” Akira asked dryly, as he unpacked his things.

“Maybe you should’ve sold it for a better rate.” Morgana shook himself, and fluffed up. “No wait! I still disapprove! Makoto disapproves too!”

“Yes, yes.”

“Futaba has read too much manga and Ann has read too many women’s magazines and Ryuji is stupid and so is Yusuke and Haru lives in a weird world of rich people!” Morgana sucked in a deep breath. Other than Morgana and Makoto, everyone else had been surprisingly… okay with The Arrangement, as Akira put it. Not that he’d actually wanted to tell them about it, but Morgana had told Makoto and then things had imploded from there.

“Yes, yes.” Akira patted Morgana. “It’s going to be okay. Sushi tonight? We passed a sushi bar on the way here.”

“You can’t bribe me with sushi,” Morgana said firmly, and fluffed up again as the doorbell rang. “Ahh! The devil has come for your soul!”

“You can be so dramatic.” Akira ambled over to the door, letting Iwai in.

“Not bad, I guess,” Iwai said, after taking a look around. “Though you could probably get a bigger place in the nice part of Roppongi. I brought drinks. And something for your noisy cat.”

“Who’s noisy?” Morgana hissed from the bedroom, then darted over in excitement as Iwai took a pack of sashimi out from the plastic bags he was holding, setting it on the floor and opening the pack.

“Devil sashimi,” Akira told Morgana dryly, but the cat ignored him, wolfing down the first piece of tuna.

Iwai kissed Akira before Akira could thank him, and Akira ended up pulling them both into the bedroom, nudging the door closed, stumbling into the ensuite bathroom. They shed clothes in a messy trail and in the shower, cleaning up, Iwai sucked Akira’s cock hungrily, oblivious to the hot spray and Akira’s fingers digging into his shoulders.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Akira braced himself against the door and Iwai’s shoulders, legs wrapped tightly around Iwai’s waist as Iwai fucked him, shaking the door, taking his weight easily, growling as Akira mewled with each thrust. He _liked_ this, loved being pinned with nowhere to go, their cries and groans and the wet union of their bodies ringing in an obscene echo in the bathroom.

“More,” Akira kept gasping, “more,” and Iwai groaned something, pulling out. Before Akira could protest, Iwai opened the door, kissing Akira as he walked them back to the bed. They tangled on it, Akira grumbling as he rubbed his cock pointedly against Iwai’s belly, and Iwai chuckled, hauling up one of Akira’s thighs, bracing himself against the edge of the bed and the floor and pushing back in, dragging Akira down against him, _hard_. Akira wailed.

“Good sound,” Iwai said, grinning; the tiger was at its fiercest when hungry. Now Akira could do little else but hold on as he was taken. Iwai fucked him through his first orgasm, not even slowing down as Akira writhed and keened; and into the second, Akira clawing at the bed, whimpering, begging in low incoherent gasps. He might have blacked out. When he came to, blinking, Iwai was wrapped around his back, nuzzling his throat, cock still hard, pressed balls deep.

“Wha—“ Akira began, frowning, and Iwai chuckled, kissing the edge of his mouth.

“Welcome back.”

“You haven’t…” Akira squirmed breathlessly, then he whined as Iwai squeezed his cock, stroking his spent seed over it. He couldn’t get hard again so soon, he couldn’t, but his body tried.

“What’s the hurry?” Iwai growled, his fingers trailing down, past Akira’s balls, rubbing at at the stretched rim of his sore hole, chuckling again when Akira moaned his name. “I’ve got all night.”

#

Iwai glanced up at Akira from where he was kneeling before the oven, fiddling with the knobs. “Ah? You’re home late.”

Akira stifled a yawn, setting his bag on the shoe cabinet, Morgana popping out. Stealing the latest mark’s Treasure had taken longer than he’d estimated. “What are you doing here?”

“Some friends of mine followed you and your friends to an interesting part of Taito-ku.”

Akira nudged Iwai away from the oven. “You tried to make pizza?”

“Tried,” Iwai admitted, which meant that they disposed of whatever strange experimental not-pizza was in the oven and ordered take-out while Akira showered and then sat on Iwai’s lap on the couch, yawning while Iwai lectured him and rubbed ointment on new bruises.

“Seriously, I’m not bleeding this time,”

“ _This time_ ,” Iwai said darkly. “Did it work?”

“Hm? Yeah. Might take a few days for it to work out, but Watanabe will probably turn himself in to the police.”

“Thanks.”

“Didn’t do it for you.” Akira poked Iwai’s nose. “We’ve got a database now, run by a friend. We searched his name against it. Turns out someone had put it in as a request before. His daughter.”

“His own family?”

“Probably a matter of time before his drinking got bad enough that he got around to beating his wife to death. Already came close once or twice.” Akira shuddered, staring at his hands. “And. We nearly ignored her request. We didn’t think things were that bad from the wording: it had been pretty vague. Probably would’ve ignored it, if you hadn’t given us the same name.”

Iwai hummed. “It worked out. We’re down one inconvenient black market _kakuseizai_ chemist, and you’re down a wife-beater.”

“His Palace…” Akira trailed off, and shuddered. “We need a better system. Some way of filtering out the really important requests.”

“You can’t fix the world, kid.” Iwai kissed Akira’s shoulders. “The strong survive. The weak get lucky sometimes, get unlucky sometimes.”

“That’s a selfish way of looking at the world.”

Iwai nuzzled Akira’s spine, gentle, intimate. “How about you give me your list? The people who can pay, who have easier problems? We might help. For a price.”

“One that keeps having to be paid forever?”

“Heh. No. That’s bad business. Word gets around. Besides, I don’t like wife-beaters.”

The Devil again, whispering promises. Akira leaned back against Iwai’s touch, as Iwai kissed lower, mouthing over an older bruise, the ache somehow growing sweet. “I’ll think about it.”

“Sure.”

“In the meantime,” Akira twisted around, “how about we move to the bed?”

“Food’s comin’.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re pretty banged up.” Iwai pressed a hand lightly over a fresh bruise, and his eyes darkened when Akira merely smiled lazily and pushed against the pressure.

“So maybe you should be more careful. Besides,” Akira leaned in, his lips brushing Iwai’s ear, “I’ve got all night.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


End file.
